A Story That Is Not About Love
by megjfreedman
Summary: Jyder fic about Jake's suicide and what led up to it and through the eyes of fictional reporter, Vera Shannon. This is an intro so tell me if you want more, I'm doing this for fun :)
1. Chapter 1: What This Story Is

A Story That Is Not About Love

Introduction

A Note from Vera Shannon

This is not a love story. Nor is it a story about love.

What it is a story about is blossoming love, being afraid of fitting in, of heartbreak, turmoil, life, liberty and equality.

This is a story of two people fighting the idea of needing to be perfect. This is a story about life, death, music and love. This is torn between two lovers, this is teen suicide, and this is a true and eternal love like a flickering candle.

Now I'm a reporter. I don't know love. Is this love? You tell me.


	2. Chapter 2: Letters From An Unknown Love

**Veronica**

One boy. Dead. I guess there are a lot of things I could tell you about that, about a boy who dies but I'm not a great storyteller. When I examine his room, I try to pick up the pieces of his life that came with it, question in my head like: _Was he popular at school? Did he have a girlfriend?_

But I guess I can't tell you this story until I've worked it out for myself.

**Dear Katie**

The piece of paper had a name written on it, in barely legible spidery scrawl. He could, however, just about make out it read _Ryder _on it. He also noticed it was written on yellow notebook paper, which was just one of those weird things he noticed. He did that.

He unfolded it to reveal a letter in the same shaky handwriting:

_Dear Ryder,_

_Please don't be mad at me._

_-Katie_

OK, so it was crazy enough this weird Unique guy/girl had these stupid, wrong feelings for him but now that he was ignoring them they had to find other ways to try and get their awkward message across?

Ryder charged up to Unique's locker, wearing a pained, confused, emotional expression on his face, his eyes wide and his mouth curled into a half-frown. 'So, this? This is your way to try and get your point across from him?' he asked tearfully, breathing heavily.

'What the?' Unique asked, staring confusedly.

'This, this,' he grunted angrily. 'Don't lie to me, I know you did it, _Katie_. So, are you going to just stick around forever and just humiliate me? Huh? _Huh_?'

Unique sighed and didn't react, simply rolling her eyes and snatching the paper. As she unfolded it she began to look more confused and then tossed it at Ryder. 'This isn't mine. You should know by now my handwriting is _way_ more bootylicious than _that_!' Then she flounced off, leaving a further puzzled Ryder staring at her.

Jake quickly thrashed his back into the row of lockers behind him, sighing, hoping desperately Ryder didn't see him. The last thing he wanted him to know was about _this_.


	3. Chapter 3: Getting Closer

**Veronica** I've been told that I'm not a people person, which is sometimes good and sometimes bad when you're a reporter. Sometimes the fact you desire isolation to pick up the pieces of a never-ending mystery can lead to ground-breaking discoveries and furthermore articles, other times the fact you cannot socially connect with witnesses can lead you off in different directions and no closer to a completed article. Now was one of those times where my anti-social awkwardness hurt. I was interviewing people he knew, people closest to him. His mother gave me a factual background about his life; his teary-eyed girlfriend provided a turbulent account through sniffles and snot about how terrible her life was now, and this tall boy called Ryder who was his friend or something simply mumbled answers. I was no closer to the truth. **Letters to Katie** _Katie,_

_What do you want?_

_-Ryder_

He placed it on his locker where he had first found the note, put it in yellow notebook paper and green biro and printed _Katie _on the front. He sighed and walked off as Jake sauntered by. The two weren't speaking and he had pledged to avoid those Gleeks at all costs.

He was pushing his way through a crowd of people to get his History folder when he saw another piece of yellow notebook paper stuck to the locker, in the spidery scrawl of green biro, in the yellow notebook paper. It was crumpled at the edges and had an odd smell, something scented vaguely like the boys locker room. At first he had a strange conspiracy theory of Beiste doing this, but it soon passed as he ripped open the note.

_Ryder,_

_To be with you. I like you._

_-Katie_

He stared at the note is disbelief. He stared at it all though History, all the way home, through every word in precise detail. He wrote the note and stuck it up. She replied. He replied. It was a cycle. He soon felt he could trust her again, like they were starting over, even though she betrayed him. Some days she'd post a note very day, others she wouldn't. They were all written the same way, as the ritual was. On a Thursday, at nine o'clock, he counted, it read:

_Ryder,_

_Meet me in the auditorium tomorrow at four. I'll be there._

_-Katie_

He scribbled the date in his diary and thought of his note tomorrow. Had he listened instead of being in elation, he'd have heard a sigh coming from a nearby row of lockers from Jake. What had this guy done now?


	4. Chapter 4: This Is Why We Write

**Veronica**

One thing about life I've learnt is that objects can be better friends than humans. Stories? I've written hundreds of them, from the backs of my old notebooks to now, writing professionally, and they've often been friendlier than people I've met.

One thing I find is how vulgar some humans can be. Like his brother, for instance. He seems to slack around and do nothing all day, and he doesn't seem to be the kind of guy you trust. So who do you trust?

**Meeting Katie**

The auditorium lights were dodgy, he noticed. Someone would have to change the light bulbs soon. It was quarter to four, his watch said. He thought of the letter lying on his desk at home. It had taken him one week and ten spell checks to write so he could write everything, say everything he need to say. For this time, he had forgotten Katie was Unique, and had opened up to prospects that it could be someone else, someone new, exciting, and different, and someone he could connect with. Five minutes gone. He'd written the letter on yellow notebook paper in green biro per tradition dictated. Ten minutes gone. He'd cried and laughed and bawled and chuckled. He knew he was about to cry. The suspense was killing him. Fifteen minutes. Time's up. No one was there, not a footstep. So now there was no Katie and he was just a dumb, dyslexic kid who everybody hated, even the Gleeks and he hated himself and the time gone by and he wished they would just stop taunting him and the memories and now he was crying like a baby and that was wrong and he had no friends-

Jake stepped out slowly, wishing he hadn't done this. 'Dude, are you OK?'


End file.
